Dark Knight Over The Empire
by ordinaryguy2
Summary: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. . . under a dictatorial empire, the origins of the Dark Knight begin! After seeing his parents murdered in front of him, young Bruce Wayne is taken into the Jedi Temple to be raised despite having no ability to use the force. How will this change his life when he is finally able to return to the care of his uncle? Story by Carycomic
1. Chapter 1

**DARK KNIGHT OVER THE EMPIRE**

**A "DC Elseworlds/Star Wars: Infinities" crossover.**

**By Carycomic**

_Characters and concepts: if you recognize them, I don't own or profit from them (as usual)._

**A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. . .**

. . .there was an interplanetary republic. One with a government so corrupt, many of its member worlds tried to secede! And, consequently, a terrible civil war was fought to prevent that.

The Republic eventually won. But, at a terrible price: it became a dictatorial empire. With the former Supreme Chancellor ruling as an absolute monarch! That is why many former foes have now joined together in an alliance to restore the Old Republic. Even though such a restoration will not be easy. Indeed; such an effort will require a great deal of bravery. . .and boldness.

**CORUSCANT, 32 BBY (BEFORE THE BATTLE OF YAVIN)**

"Who is this, Master?" inquired the newly knighted Sacorrian Jedi, referring to the strangely quite six year-old boy before her.

"His name is Bruce-and-Wayne Kane-Finger of Lorrd," replied Jorus C'baoth: "Bruce Wayne, for short. His parents and I were fellow members of the Senate Interspecies Advisory Council. And, last night? He saw them murdered, before his very eyes!"

Lezlee Tomkin's hands flew to her mouth, in speechless horror, as Jorus C'baoth continued.

"Forensic scanning of a blaster, found discarded at the scene, has shown traces of Arcona DNA. Leading police to theorize an armed robbery-gone-wrong. . .perpetrated by a salt addict. Which is why they are rounding up every female Arcona, answering that description, even as we speak."

"And, the boy?" Lezlee asked: "What will become of him?"

"I'm going to ask the Council to make him a ward of the Temple. I know he lacks all sensitivity to the Force! Yet, he has no living relatives on his father's homeworld. And, his mother's homeworld is just too rife with political intrigue, at the moment for my peace of mind."

"If they say '_yes_,' " replied Lezlee: ". . .you know you can count on me to help you look after him. I could even reprogram one of the protocol droids to act like a robotic telbun!"

Lezlee had learned of that unique form of surrogate parenting (_practiced by Kuati aristocracy_) from her fellow ex-Padawan and former roommate, Kendalina of Kuat. And Jorus C'baoth, sensing the sincerity in her words, smiled and nodded in agreement.

Fortunately, for him, the Jedi Council proved equally agreeable in granting his request. As a result, Lezlee was able to keep her promise. She introduced young Bruce to LFR-3D. A variant of the LE-class of protocol droid who preferred to be known. . .as "_Alfred_."

Yet, despite all the tender-loving care they lavished upon him, Bruce remained hysterically mute for the next year. It took a rather unusual incident for his power of speech to return to him.

One particularly warm night, while sleeping with the window open, a hawk-bat flew into his bedroom. Normally, the wing beats of this avian species were virtually silent. Yet, somehow, they awakened Bruce. And the distorted silhouette it cast on the dimly lit wall, behind his head board, made it seem like a huge monster to his bleary eyes. As a result?

He started screaming!

Lezlee and Alfred rushed to his room. The latter adjusting his vocabulator so that it sonically repelled the hawk-bat, driving it back out through the window. While the former hugged young Bruce to her bosom. Using a moderate amount of the Force to enhance the calming effects of the lullaby she was now humming to him. Little did she know, however, that this would be the last time she would ever comfort him so. Because, two weeks later, the political intrigue on Alderaan that Jorus C'baoth had been so critical of was finally resolved. Bail Organa of House Organa would now be the planet's ruling Viceroy.

Which, in turn, meant that he would finally get to meet his late sister's only child.

**GCPD HEADQUARTERS, NEW COV (10 BBY)**

"Commissioner Gordon?" said the younger man: "I'm Harr Veedent. Senior Prosecutor for the Imperial Office of Criminal Investigations, Churba Sector. This is my steno droid, J-3PO."

"Pleased to meet you," said Jimm Gordon with as much sincere enthusiasm as he could fake.

"Where's the prisoner?"

"Right this way."

Gordon led the way into a gray-walled interrogation room. There, sitting at a table with two chairs, was a rather plump human with salt-and-pepper hair. . .and a rather sour expression on his face. Veedent sat down across from the man and repeated the introductions before asking the plump man's name.

"Please state it loudly, and clearly, for the record," he added.

"Fredrikk Stryker," replied the prisoner in a bitter tone.

"Occupation and planet of residence?"

"Former general manager of Apex Chemicals, Gotham City-dome, New Cov."

"And how did you first become involved with Black Sun, Mr. Stryker?"

"Last year, I had a streak of bad luck at the sabacc tables on Ord Mantell. And, six months ago, I'm approached by this Anzat who says he works for a Tisshar who's bought up all my markers! All I have to do, to pay them back is to let them use the chemical plant as a front. . .for refining contraband glitterstim."

"What was your response?"

"I told him that was impossible, as I had four partners I had to answer to!"

Veedent consulted a data pad handed him by J-3PO.

"Those being. . .Steevin Crane, Paul Rogers, Willem Lambert, and Bruce Wayne?"

Stryker nodded: "With Crane in charge of Shipping; Rogers, the head of Research &amp; Development; Lambert, the chief numbers cruncher; and Wayne, the majority stockholder from having given us the start-up creds."

"How did the Anzat react to your pronouncement?"

"He said to leave those details up to them. That they were real good at arranging tragic '_accidents_.' "

_Read and review, please!_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

"And what '_accident_' did they arrange for Willem Lambert?" asked Veedent.

Stryker briefly inhaled before replying.

"A Clawdite killed him by impersonating his son! He then did the same to Crane. At the same time, a computer slicer named Jennings (who'd been slipped into the Accounting Dept. as a temp worker) would lay a data trail that would make it seem Willem, Junior had done both murders in order to inherit his father's share of the company. And, thereby, pay off those heavy sabacc debts I mentioned earlier."

"The ones you had really incurred," corrected Veedent.

Stryker nodded: "Yeah."

"So, what went wrong?"

"Jennings was to input the false data from the terminal in Lambert, Senior's office (seeing as Junior was the only other one at the plant who knew his old man's password). But, he found Rogers already there, for some reason, and got greedy. Thought he might get a bonus if he killed Rogers, himself! So, he whipped out a vibro-shiv and went after him."

"And. . .?" prompted the Imperial Senior Prosecutor.

"And, from out of nowhere, comes this maniac in a costume! ! !" shouted Stryker.

"Costume?! What kind of costume?"

"Dark bluish-black. With pointy ears atop a full face mask. The image of a red hawk-bat on his chest. And these red wings, with webbing under his arm pits!"

Veedent looked at Gordon with an incredulous expression on his face. The commissioner merely responded with a stone-faced shrug. So Veedent resumed questioning.

"What happened, then?"

"The guy in the hawk-bat suit did some kind of acrobatic leaping around that placed him in between Jennings and Rogers. So, Jennings went after him, first. It was a real knock-down/drag-out fight, I can tell you. Jennings was no amateur with that vibro-shiv! But, against that hawk-bat man, he had no chance. He wound up being tossed through Lambert's open office window by that maniac!"

"And, you just happen to know all this, how?"

"I was watching it via the hidden holovid camera I'd planted in Lambert's office on Black Sun's orders. And when I saw what had happened to Jennings, I panicked and ran for it. I made it all the way to my skimmer, in the staff parking garage, too. . .before _he_ caught up to me."

"This hawk-bat man," Veedent added.

"Yeah. He seemed to appear out of thin air. Just like Lambert's office! And, he decked me with one punch. The next thing I know, I'm waking up in a cell at GCPD HQ."

"What about the Clawdite who impersonated Willem, Junior?" Veedent pressed: "Where was he all this time?"

Stryker shrugged. "I got no idea."

It was at this point that J-3PO interrupted things.

"Oh, dear! I believe I've heard enough."

Veedent looked at the steno droid in astonishment.

"I beg your pardon!"

"You heard me, shyster."

Whereupon, J-3PO transformed into. . .a Roonian mud man.

"Guards!" yelled Commissioner Gordon: "Get in here, qui-"

The rest of his order was cut off by a mud ball that slammed into the right side of his head. Followed by two more (one apiece) colliding with the foreheads of the GCPD officers who came rushing in, stun batons at the ready. Harr Veedent, on the other hand, was merely picked up, by the arm pits, and bodily slammed against the left-hand wall of the interrogation room.

Whereupon, he slumped to the floor, unconscious. At which point, the Clawdite turned to Stryker and smiled.

"Your turn."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed a new voice. "I'm afraid I can't permit that."

It was hard to tell who was more startled by that interruption: Stryker or the Clawdite. Because the new voice had sounded remarkably like the one the latter had just used while posing as J-3PO!

"Who said that?" demanded the metamorphic assassin. "Where are you?"

"Right here," growled the masked figure that seemed to materialize out of thin air: "Catch!"

There followed a right handed throwing motion. The next moment, a series of small pellets buried themselves beneath the Clawdite's presently muddy exterior. . .before exploding.

"What the. . .?" the Clawdite began to swear.

"Miniature glop grenades," chortled the masked figure: "The second you resume your base form, you'll be covered in an adhesive gel stickier than an arachnor's web!"

"We'll see about that."

Yet, when the Clawdite tried to call what he thought was a bluff, he found out that the masked figure had not been bluffing. Which so frustrated him that he began to instinctively do the one thing he should not have done. Thrash about, trying to get loose through sheer brute force!

It only made the adhesive strands cling to him all the more tightly. Whereupon, the masked figure threw down one more pellet. This one, however, released a cloud of anesthetic gas that instantly rendered the Clawdite unconscious. And when Commissioner Gordon and his Imperial guest were revived by police med-techs? They saw Fredrikk Stryker being taken away in a repulsorlift stretcher. All the while shouting the same thing, over and over, at the top of his lungs.

"It was him, again. The hawk-bat man. It was him, again! The Hawk-Batman! !"

**tbc?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

**By Carycomic!**

**IMPERIAL CITY (CORUSCANT), 10 B. B. Y. **

"What on Falleen. . .?" Prince Xizor exclaimed as he put the holovid on hold.

The bald Arkanian standing next to him smiled. His seemingly pupil-less eyes unnervingly magnified by the transparisteel goggles he wore.

"The hanadak is nothing. Just a three meter-tall anthropoid from Endor. But, its opponent? That's the true item of interest. My inspirational break-through, you might say."

Professor Hugo Strange gestured at the six-limbed reptile for emphasis.

"You are looking at a genetically engineered hybrid of nashtah and gundark!"

Xizor looked at him in open incredulity.

"A hybrid?! That's impossible. You must have doctored this holovid."

"Negative," replied a third voice belonging to a two meter-tall Yaka cyborg. "My optical transceiver shows no sign of tampering with the audiovisual data. This holovid is genuine."

The Yaka now looked at Strange. "My master wishes to hear your proposal."

And the geneticist's smile became a shameless feral grin.

"For a mere one million credits, I can send even more advanced creations to ensure that neither Fred Stryker nor Negaht Tam ever live to testify against Black Sun."

The Yaka raised his head towards the ceiling of Prince Xizor's living room as if he were having a vision. Five minutes later, he looked back at the Arkanian.

"Half the amount, now. The rest on proven completion of their deaths."

"Done!" exclaimed Strange.

**BRUCE WAYNE'S SKYHOOK **

**(ONE WEEK LATER) **

"Is this for real?"

Bail Organa looked at his nephew and grimly nodded.

"It was relayed to Alderaan by our people inside HoloNet News. This is definitely no fabrication!"

Bruce leaned forward and pressed the freeze-frame button. He could easily have used the voice interface to do the same thing! But, the former method allowed him to bend down on one knee and take a closer look at the graphic image of two rancor-like humanoids. . .

. . .and the Imperial City Policemen they were quite literally tearing limb from limb.

Bruce then started clicking the button, in order to advance the holovid centimeter by centimeter. A minute later, he stopped to examine some reddish-colored lines. Following which, he looked at his uncle.

"Pinpoint laser fire. Storm troopers were called in?"

Organa nodded: "Two APC's worth. And, even then, it took five more minutes for these things to die! If not for the force field keeping them confined to the landing pad, they might've crashed their way inside ICP HQ, and increased the body count."

"Total number of casualties?"

Organa paused before replying: "Twenty. . . including the two prisoners and their six-man escort from Gotham City-dome."

Bruce clenched his hands into fists and muttered something harsh under his breath. And, his uncle waited until the younger man had calmed down before venturing to make his next statement.

"Bruce? I know it's asking a lot, considering everything else you're already doing for the Alliance. But, we have to find out where these things came from. If only to counter Palpatine's propaganda that they're biological warfare weapons developed by the Alliance! Because, if he and Vader find the party or parties truly responsible. . ."

Bruce nodded: ". . .they could mass produce an army of them with the cloning technology already at their disposal. Consider it done, Uncle Bail."

Ironically, someone else was uttering a similar sentiment at that exact same moment.

"How did those monstrosities wind up on the ICP landing pad, Lord Vader?"

"That presents something of a problem, Master," replied the tall, black-armored figure. "Twenty fatalities are listed. But, the remains of only eighteen bodies were found. Two Anomid diplomats, who were supposedly on a tour of ICP Headquarters, are missing. Yet, the only traces we've found of them are their passports. . . and their surprisingly bloodless clothing."

"Are you saying that those incredible hulking things were once Anomids?!" demanded the Emperor.

"Forensic scanning of the clothing has shown no traces of Anomid DNA. Just the opposite, in fact. These creatures were apparently of the Xa Fel species! And, even more disconcerting? Each of them had a high concentration of. . . midi-chlorians. . . in their blood."

Palpatine stroked his chin with his right hand while he considered this information.

"Disconcerting, indeed, Lord Vader. Such creatures have not been seen in this galaxy since the days of the Great Terentatek Hunt. And, whoever is responsible for them must be found before the Rebel Alliance get their hands on him."

"I have already taken steps in that regard, Master. The ship which brought the so-called 'diplomats' here, from Yablari, came by way of Nar Shadaa. Consequently, I will begin my investigation, there."

Palpatine smiled. "Good thinking, my apprentice."

Vader bowed: "Thank you, Master."

Two hours later, Vader's personal flagship left orbit, bound for Hutt Space. Five minutes after that, Bruce Wayne's space coupe departed for New Cov. Whereupon, Bruce made a scrambled holo-transmission to his house in Gotham City-dome.

"Alfred? It's me. Get the Tappratine ready. Along with my. . . travel clothes."

"Your intended destination, sir?"

Bruce half-smiled. "Let's just say that the legend of the Hawk-Batman is about to spread to the Smugglers' Moon."

**tbc **


	4. Chapter 4

Dark Knight Over The Empire Chapter 4.

By Carycomic

THE OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

(THREE DAYS LATER)

"Bridge to Lord Vader. Bridge to Lord Vader."

The second most feared man in the Empire opened his comm-link. "Vader, here. What is it, captain?"

"We've reached the edge of the Y'toub System, Milord. We are now in geosynchronous orbit of its outermost planet."

"Excellent." He then turned off the comm-link before turning to look around the shuttle bay. "Now, where is. . .?"

Vader's half-aloud muttering was cut off by the being he now saw before him. But, the awkward pause lasted only a moment.

"Rek'oj! I chose you for this mission because of your people's reputation as discrete providers of hard-to-get merchandise (like valuable information). What is the meaning of this?!"

Like most of his bird-like race, Rek'oj had feathery green hair and chalk-white skin. But, where the rest of them had beautifully-colored eyes of red, green, or blue, his were more like pitch-black. The polar opposite, one might say, of an Arkanian's eyes! Yet, it was not his epidermal appearance that Vader was questioning, so much as the Ayrou's choice of wardrobe. More specifically; a purple trenchcoat, with matching slacks and a flat-crowned, round-brimmed hat.

"Merely hiding in plain sight, Milord. After all; people are less likely to suspect me of being an Imperial spy, if I resemble the caricature of one from a children's holovid!"

Vader snorted in blatantly derisive disagreement. But, this was neither the time nor the place to argue the point. "Board your shuttle, and contact me when you've landed."

Rek'oj momentarily doffed his hat as he gave an exaggerated bow. "As you command, Milord."

Five minutes later, the shuttle in question (which bore an uncomfortable resemblance to an albino mynock) departed from the belly of the Imperial Star Destroyer. Yet, even as it did so, another vessel was already landing on the Smugglers' Moon ahead of it.

"Calling Spaceport Control Tower. Calling Spaceport Control Tower. This is the Tappratine (Munto-Codru registry) requesting clearance to land. Over?"

"We read you, Tappratine. You may touch down in Docking Bay THX-1138. And, welcome to Nar Shadaa! Over."

"Acknowledged, Tower. This is Tappratine; over and out."

"OK, Red," Bruce remarked: "You heard them. Begin deceleration procedures."

Whereupon, the astromech droid (officially known as R5-D4) telemetrically split the wings of the Tappratine in half! Even though doing so made the wings look more like a capital "x" from the Galactic Basic alphabet, as opposed to the four wings of the avian mammal the sleek black spacecraft had been named for.

In any event, the Tappratine landed in the aforementioned docking bay, as requested. Following which, the cockpit's transparisteel lid slowly lifted upward. Thereby allowing Bruce to leap out.

"Full security while I'm out, Red."

The beeps and whistles which followed were translated into Basic upon the face of the new, miniaturized style of interpretron he wore on his left wrist. And Bruce actually laughed!

"I know you weren't manufactured yesterday. I just like to constantly reassure myself that your audioreceptors are functioning properly!"

He laughed again at the unrepeatable nature of the translation before opening the outer door of the docking bay. That way, the first thing any other beings on this side of the spaceport would glimpse. . .would be a deadly serious expression on his face.

He was still wearing that expression when he entered the Multi-Ale' Inn. A drinking establishment owned by what most of its patrons perceived to be a short human with straggly black hair, a hook nose, and a fetish for wearing a transparisteel monocle on his right eye. But, who was actually a Baolsar named Oswaldo Cobblepotzzo!

He simply kept his antenna-palps hidden, so he could discretely listen in on some of his customers' various conversations. A fact that Bruce reminded him (in an equally discrete whisper) was not a _total_ secret from everyone else.

"Still bugging your customers' drinks with those waterproofed comm-links disguised as umbrellas?"

Oswaldo grinned: "Well, well, well! Bane Malone; long time/no see. What'll you have? Saurin brandy, fresh from Durkteel?"

Bruce shook his head. "Vine-caf. Cream; no sugar."

"Ah! A business trip."

Bruce nodded: "Is Drakvaar around?"

"As a matter of fact, yes!" He used his hook nose to point at a nearby table, where the Kubaz in question sat talking to a canid sapient.

A well-armed canid, wearing a green bomber jacket, at that.

"Who's the poor man's Shistavanen?"

Oswaldo chuckled. "Gnort Gneesmacher. A Ranth/Lasat mixed-blood who usually hunts bounty for the Slavers Syndicate. But, today, he just got back from hunting big game. . .on Duro."

"Duro?" echoed Bruce: "That mudball's more polluted than Nar Shadaa and Engtu, put together. What kind of big game would even a real Wolfie find to hunt, there?"

Oswaldo shrugged as he began to pour the vine-caf into Bruce's cup.

"The main ingredient of fefze beetle paste, I imagine. It's Drakvaar's favorite!"

It was, at this moment, that trouble started brewing. For that was when the Ambush Bugs- -an all-insectoid swoop gang, composed of delinquent male Noehons led by an outcast Bartokk- -arrived on the scene. And, if there was one race of vertebrates they hated more than humans, it was. . .

. . .the insectivorous Kubaz.

So, when the Bartokk spotted Drakvaar, it immediately went over to the latter's table.

"What are you doing here, murderer?" it demanded in heavily-accented Basic.

Drakvaar looked up at the Bartok, before he started speaking into the klunky, old-style interpretron on his left wrist.

"Murder-er?" came the halting, time-delay translation: "That-is-fun-ny-com-ing-from-you. Go! Be-fore-I-have-my-new-friend-teach-you-less-on."

The Bartokk only had to turn its head part way to its left, in order for the Noehons to immediately swarm around him.

"He'll need more friends of his own, before I take orders from your kind. Larva-killer!"

Everyone at the surrounding tables began to stand up and move toward the corners of the bar farthest from the increasingly heated discussion. Prompting Gnort Gneesmacher to finally chime in with his two proverbial milli-creds. "I'm trying to discuss some business in private, here. So, why don't the lot of you get lost?"

The Bartokk gave his species' equivalent of a chuckle. "Is this the part where you add '. . .or else?' Well, I will save you trouble! Or else, what?"

Gneesmacher did not even bother to verbally respond. He just drew his side-arm, with blazing speed, and (to everyone else's amazement). . .

. . .the Bartokk was shrunken down to less than a centimeter tall by a strange beam of bluish-white light!

For what felt like an eternity no one moved or spoke. They just stared in undisguised astonishment. That is until Drakvaar shot out an impossibly long and sticky tongue, and captured the Bartokk with it. Following which, there was several seconds of surprisingly loud crunching, preceding Drakvaar burping, excusing himself, and then adding, "Yum! Tastes-like-ibbot!"

That proved the straw that broke the bantha's back. The Noehons promptly ran outside and took to the air as fast their swoops could go! Five minutes later, Drakvaar and Gneesmacher left the bar, as well. Although, they took separate directions once they were outside.

Gneesmacher flew off in an airspeeder that had a female Twi'lek in the right front passenger seat. Seconds afterward, he wound up being followed by a black-haired human female wearing a purple-and-black costume, with a purple mask and matching cape. And, her pursuit was made possible by the Bartokk's swoop (seeing as how it no longer needed the illegally modified speeder bike).

Drakvaar, however, was followed by a male Ayrou in a flamboyantly purple outfit of his own. The both of them proceeding on foot.

His curiosity aroused by what he had witnessed, Bruce flipped a milli-cred after first finding an obscure spot in back of the Multi-Ale' Inn, near the employees' entrance.

"Heads," he muttered. "I follow the girl."

He then whispered something into his mini-interpretron. "Drop facade of Malone. Set time-delay activation of aerial stealth mode for one half-minute." Whereupon, the image of bounty hunter Bane "the Matchless" Malone disappeared. To be briefly replaced by that of the Hawk-Batman, prior to his becoming both airborne. . . and holographically invisible.

**tbc **


	5. Chapter 5

**Dark Knight Over The Empire.**

**By Carycomic**

**Chapter 5.**

**NAR SHADDA (10 BBY)**

* * * * *

G'nort Gneesmacher put his right arm around the green-skinned Twilek girl as he headed back toward the spaceport hotel room he had rented. It might not be the master bedroom of a Hutt crime lord's palace! But, at least it was cleaner than most of his previous lodgings. Which, in turn, should make this pretty little thing a lot more enthusiastic for their upcoming "tryst."

Unfortunately, it would not be his more usual untidiness that killed her mood. It was the near-misses of blaster fire from the Ambush Bugs he suddenly found pursuing him!

"There he is! Get him! Get him! Avenge the boss!"

The Ranth/Lasat mixed-blood was forced to resume driving with both hands on the wheel as he threaded his vehicle through the flyways of this massive ecumenopolis. For, while these vengeful Noehons might not be as good at sharpshooting as he was, they still outnumbered him. And the way they were zipping around his airspeeder with their swoops, one of them was bound to get in a lucky shot, sooner or later! Making him fervently wish there were another gunman in the seat beside him, right now, rather than this "dancing" girl.

As if in answer to that quasi-prayer, Gneesmacher's sidearm suddenly flew up out of his holster and floated in mid-air!

It did more than that, in fact. It started firing at the pursuing Noehons with a precision even he could not match! Striking- -and shrinking- -every single Noehon who got within range of its beam. Furthermore, after half a dozen such shrinkings, the remaining insectoids had had enough.

"Veer off! Veer off! He's pulling some kind of Jedi poodoo with that thing."

Whereupon, the Ambush Bugs flew away at top speed.

"Wow!" exclaimed the Twilek. "You didn't tell me you were a Force-sensitive."

"He's not," growled a deep voice in reply.

Whereupon, the Hawk-Batman deactivated his costume's stealth mode. Revealing him to be kneeling in the vehicle's back seat.

"Who the frell are you?!" demanded the astounded Gneesmacher.

Yet, the Hawk-Batman's only response was to fire the gun point-blank at the bounty hunter. Instantly shrinking him to only a couple centimeters tall! Unfortunately, it was at the expense of discovering, the hard way, that the airspeeder was still on manual control! ! Whereupon, the Twilek started screaming as the vehicle started heading into a power dive for Nar Shadda's distant surface. Yet, she did not remain frightened for long, as the costumed crusader hurriedly jumped into the driver's seat, and activated the auto-pilot.

A minute later, the vehicle had leveled off. Allowing the Hawk-Batman to pick up the shrunken bounty hunter by the nape of his furry little neck.

"Alright, slaver! Time for me to ask _you_ a few questions. Starting with: 'Where did you get this gun?' "

"Look!" exclaimed Gneesmacher (in a high-pitched voice). "I don't know who think you are. But, I'm a bounty hunter, duly licensed by the Empire. You have no right to. . .!"

The Twilek girl could not contain herself any longer. She burst out laughing!"

The Hawk-Batman looked at her, semi-incredulously.

"May I ask what you find so funny, Miss. . .?"

"Sumeer! Sumeer Gleesahn. It's him! His voice is so squeaky, it's cute!"

"Cute?!" echoed the shrunken bounty hunter: "Why, when I get back to normal size, you lousy, good-for-nothing b***, I'll show you who's. . ."

The Hawk-Batman spit in Gneesmacher's face in order to censor the rest of that threat. He then turned to Sumeer.

"How adept are your lekku at tickling a client's bare feet?"

Sumeer grinned: "Let's find out."

* * * * *

Whereupon, the dangling tips of her cranial tentacles stretched upwards to the soles of the shrunken bounty hunter's furry feet.

"Kitchy-kitchy-kitchy-koo. Kitchy-kitchy-kitchy-koo!"

"Ha-ha!" Gneesmacher began to laugh: "No! S-Stop. . .ha-ha-ha! Stop tha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

"You want her to stop?" demanded the costumed crusader. "Tell me where you got this gun!"

"Okay, OK! I'll ta-hahahahahahahahahahaha! I'll talk! I'll talk! I'll talk!"

Sumeer ceased the tickling. Whereupon, Gneesmacher took a deep breath and declared, "I got it from Dr. Reducto."

The Hawk-Batman glared at him.

"Who?"

"Redu C'to. A Bith doctor. That's what his patients call him, in Huttese."

"And where does this Bith doctor maintain his practice?"

"He runs a free clinic about half a click south of the Multi-Ale'-Inn."

"What about Drakvaar the Kubaz? What were you discussing with him at the time of your confrontation with the Bartokk?"

"I was collecting on a bet! When I first told him what this gun could do, he didn't believe me. He bet me five hundred credits that I couldn't bring back living fefze beetles, from Duro, with it!"

"Were they delicious?"

Gneesmacher was rendered momentarily speechless by that question. So, the Hawk-Batman repeated it.

"Uh, yeah," replied the former. "Better than the paste made from them. Why?"

"Because it's going to a long time before you eat either, ever again."

He then tossed the shrunken bounty hunter into Sumeer Gleesahn's lap!

"He's all yours. Enjoy."

Whereupon, the costumed crusader activated his boot-jets and took off, southeastward. In the meantime, the Twilek girl picked up Gneesmacher in her left hand and kissed his whole body with one half-hearted lip lock. And she giggled at his resentful sputterings even as she put him in her cleavage!

"I can't wait to show you to the rest of the girls. They are going to ADORE you! !"

**tbc**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

The mysterious woman may have taken off, first. But, when she saw the Ambush Bugs intercept Gneesmacher's airspeeder, she veered her confiscated swoop towards an alley between two towering high-rise apartment buildings. And if any of the tenants of those buildings had looked out of their transparisteel windows, they would have seen a dark-haired human female, in a black-and-purple unitard, with a purple cape obscuring her shoulders. While simultaneously hiding the upper half of her facial features behind a purple mask fashioned to look like the eyes, ears, and forehead of an Atrisian shredder bat!

Yet, their surprise at this sight would have been nowhere nearly as big as the surprise this young woman felt at the sudden materialization of the Hawk-Batman aboard that same airspeeder.

"What in the name of the Force. . .?"

The rest of her muttered exclamation was cut off by the Hawk-Batman flying past the alley entrance after scaring off the Ambush Bugs. Flying back in the direction of the Multi-Ale'-Inn! So, she decided to follow him.

"Whatever he found out from the bounty hunter," she said to herself. "I'll simply follow this guy and let him do most of the work."

Meanwhile, at a certain free clinic (half a kilometer south of that aforementioned drinking establishment), a female Drall was finishing up the last of the patient visitation reports from earlier in the day. True, the clinic was open round the chronometer! Yet, it was during these lax times that she got most of her clerical work done with the least amount of interruption. So, she could not help but feel a little annoyed when she heard someone clear their throat muscles right in front of her reception desk.

She looked up to behold a dark-eyed Ayrou, in bright purple trench coat and matching round-brimmed hat, smiling at her.

"May I help you?" she asked.

The Ayrou nodded. "I'd like to see the doctor, please."

The Drall picked up a datapad.

"Name?"

"Rek'oj."

"And what seems to be wrong with you, Mr. Rek'oj?"

"I seem to have come down with a case of… infectious laughter."

The Drall scowled. "That's not funny, sir!"

The Ayrou's smile became a positively feral grin.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Really, sir! If you're not here on a serious matter, then I must demand that you... ha-ha! I must... ha-ha-ha! I... HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!"

Two seconds later, the one-and-a-half-meter tall rodentoid was rolling around on the floor, helplessly convulsed with hysterical laughter.

"See?" quipped Rek'oj. "I told you I was sick."

While there was no denying that he did enjoy this particular side-effect of his use of the Darkside of the Force, the intended primary effect was achieved when Dr. Redu C'to came from his office in the rear of the clinic to investigate all the commotion.

"Nurse Hedda! What in the name of. . .?"

". . ._'the Emperor_', Doc? Is that what you were going to say? I hope-I hope-I hope-I hope!"

The Bith physician stared at this bizarre intruder.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"We have a mutual acquaintance, Doc. A Kubaz info peddler named Drakvaar! I ran into him on the street, just a little ways north of here. And he had a funny story to tell me! Well, at least, it _sounded_ funny. Because, he literally __died__ laughing after he told it to me! In any case, he told me everything a certain bounty hunter had told __him__ about where a certain blaster had come from. A blaster that can decrease the size and mass of any being hit with it! And I find that intriguing. Because, a certain trio of Anomid tourists were able to radically __increase__ their size and mass, just last week, on Coruscant. So, if you're a good boy, and tell me who you got that blaster from, I'll not only spare you from going through the same thing she is."

Here, Rek'oj briefly paused to point at the Drall nurse, who was now gasping for air while still striving to laugh.

"I'll also snap her out of it. But, I won't ask this nicely a second time. So, what's your decision, Doc?"

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

If Redu C'to had possessed eyebrows, they would have shot up in surprise just like the Ayrou's. For that defiant remark had not come from the Bith. It seemed to have from come out of thin air! And, as it turned out, the question was purely a rhetorical one. Because, the one who had asked it subsequently sent Rek'oj flying across the clinic's waiting room from a phantom blow to the jaw!

It was only at this point that the Hawk-Batman made himself visible.

"Shades of Nozho!" exclaimed the Bith. "Who...?"

"No time," replied the costumed crusader.

The latter then hurriedly knelt by Nurse Hedda's side. Applying a thumb-and-two-finger pinch (known in teras kasi as "the oon-emori touch") to the carotid artery of her neck. This had the immediate effect of rendering her unconscious. Whereupon, the Hawk-Batman stood back up.

"I'll get right to the point, doctor. I'm here for the same information as him."

He pointed to the equally unconscious Rek'oj.

"But, there's one difference between us," he added. "I __have__ the gun he was talking about."

The Hawk-Batman withdrew it from where he had it pinned it beneath the left-hand side of his utility belt.

"At first glance, it resembles a custom-made variant of the KYD-21 blaster. Yet, I know of no technology, in this part of the galaxy, that can allow any such variant to do... this!"

Before the Bith physician could make any attempt to dodge it, he found himself shrunken to one centimeter tall by the subsequent beam of light.

"Now, tell me where you got this... and I'll not only re-enlarge you so you can take care of your nurse. I'll then shrink the Ayrou so the two of you can '_take care_' of him!"

Redu C'to wisely opted to accept the offer.

"From a spice-addicted Bimm named Arnwes Kar. He runs a duty-free '_gift_ _shop_' at the space port, and lives in an efficiency apartment on the floor above it. In exchange for enough glitterstim, to wean some of my patients off death sticks, I have to use my clinic as a front for dispensing whatever other contraband he brings me. And I sold that particular blaster, two weeks ago."

"To a bounty hunter named Gnort Gneesmacher?"

"That's the name he gave me. Although, he gave his occupation as _'master-at-arms_' aboard a Zygerrian* freighter."

The Hawk-Batman snorted in bemusement. "Cute!"

Even so, he kept his word and re-enlarged the Bith before shrinking Rek'oj. Then, just prior to departing for the aforementioned gift shop, the costumed crusader turned and thanked his informant in fluent Huttese.

"Domo arigato, Dr. Reducto."

**tbc**

*_The red-headed humanoids of Zygerria are slave traders._


End file.
